Fins
by wileej
Summary: Sherlock, a young merman, has always been fascinated by the world above the sea; the world of the humans. To go to the surface, however, his completely forbidden. One day, however, Sherlock breaks the rules and swims to the surface - only to make a very unlikely friend.
1. Under

Sherlock waited nervously outside the massive doors of the meeting room. It had been _years _since his brother had wanted to speak with him face-to-face. Why the sudden change of heart now? He remembered all too well the last time he spoke with his brother… That was when their parents had been killed by fishermen. Sherlock shuddered. Whatever Mycroft needed from him now, it wasn't going to be good.

The loud groan of the doors' old hinges nearly make Sherlock jump out of his scales. An elderly merman swam through the small crack in the doors, his nose held absurdly high and a look in his eyes when he glanced at Sherlock that told him that he was as stuffy as a thousand-year-old cave.

"Master Holmes will see you now," the old merman said in a dry, nasal voice that scraped at Sherlock's ears. He gave the merman a wide, toothy grin that made his eyes bug out. Sherlock chuckled and swam past him, briefly hearing the words "damned kids" being muttered underneath the merman's breath.

"Ah," Mycroft Holmes, the King's advisor and the head of the merfolk military, smiled his cold, non-feeling grin as Sherlock made his way into the meeting room. The merman had changed considerably in the years that had passed since Sherlock had last seen his older brother. His waist, which had once been fit and slim, had now begun to bulge unattractively. His hair was thinning quite a bit, as well as becoming gray at his temples. Even some of the scales on his long, powerful tail had begun to dull and fall off.

"Sherlock, my boy," Mycroft said, lazily drifting over to meet Sherlock. They clasped hands awkwardly, neither of them happy to see the other. "How are things?"

Sherlock began to grow impatient. He hated being indoors, even in such spacious rooms as the meeting room at Town Hall. He hated the feeling of being closed in. "What is it you need, Mycroft? The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can leave and you can go back to silently leading the entire ocean under the nose of the King."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, but he quickly smiled and said, "Such a clever thing you are. Now, Sherlock, I've called you in today because I have been getting… complaints." Mycroft turned and swam to the window, holding his hands behind his back. "It has come to my attention that you have been straying far too close to the surface."

Sherlock held his breath. How the _Hell_ did he find out? "I don't know what you're talking about," he said curtly as he slowly and quietly made his way to the doors. The faster he was out of here, the better. Sherlock knew all too well what happened to those who break Mycroft's rules.

"Now, now, Sherlock, you of all people should know not to lie to the likes of me," he said, and in an instant, he had Sherlock pressed hard up again the wall, his arm pushing against Sherlock's throat. Sherlock tried to gasp, but only wheezed feebly as his waterpipe was slowly crushed by his brother.

"I'll let you off with a warning, brother," Mycroft whispered dangerous as Sherlock weakly fought against his hold, "but if I ever get word of you returning to the surface again…" He let the threat hang in the water around them for a moment before letting Sherlock go. Sherlock inhaled as much water as he could through the violent coughing fit. The moment he could feel his fins, Sherlock bolted from the room, tore out the Town Hall and into the open water.

To be continued...


	2. Above

Sherlock didn't realized he was crying until his tail ached from swimming for so long and he had to stop. A sob wrenched through Sherlock and he let himself sink onto the ocean floor. He wrapped his arms around himself to try to stop himself from shaking. He had been so terrified… the look in Mycroft's eyes, that feral, animalistic grin… Sherlock was sure that Mycroft would have killed him right there. Snapped his neck like a dead piece of coral. Another sob made Sherlock double over on himself.

_If I ever get word of you returning to the surface again…_

Sherlock sniffed and straightened himself. Mycroft was cold and heartless, sure, but he was no killer. He had others kill for him. That look… that was nothing but an act. It was something their father, the former King's advisor before Mycroft had taken over, had taught the two of them. A way to strike fear into the opponent's heart. Nothing more.

Sherlock laughed and hugged himself. No, Mycroft wouldn't stop him from returning to the surface. It was too much a part of him now. He couldn't leave it just as much as he couldn't stop breathing. There was something fascinating, mysterious, wonderful and absolutely terrifying of that place above the water that made Sherlock's heart sing. He loved a good mystery. To learn about this place with no water, to understand it was his dream.

"Not only the place," he muttered to himself as he swam upward, "the creatures as well."

Not long ago, on one of his trips to the surface, Sherlock had come into contact with a strange beast. Completely covered in dark, shaggy hair, four appendages that ended in small, clawed hands, a long snouted face and large black eyes. Sherlock smiled at the memory of the thing. When it had seen him, it had jumped happily into the water and had paddled over to him, all the while making strange _YARP-_ing noises. When it reached him, it had thrown its front limbs over his shoulders and licked his face with its rough tongue.

Although it was a strange way to greet another, Sherlock had endured respectfully. It was not his place to judge the ways of land-folk.

Sherlock breathed in the open air as his head broke the surface of the water, his black hair falling heavy and limp over his face. He brushed it back and coughed. It was always an uncomfortable feeling, switching from gills to lungs. Open air was much lighter than water and always made him feel dizzy. He closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously before turning and swimming toward the island off in the distance.

When Sherlock reached the island, he carefully made his way to the rockiest part of the shoreline so as not to be seen. He knew all too well what humans were capable of, and if he were to get too close…

The distant YARP-ing made Sherlock's ears perk. He grinned and swam closer to the shoreline.

The moment he reached the shore, the YARP-ing stopped as his friend sniffed happily at Sherlock's hair, its long black tail wagging furiously. Sherlock laughed. "Hullo, big fella," he said warmly, scratching the creature behind its pointy ears. The creature sat heavily and made a happy noise deep in its throat.

"Pitch!"

Sherlock flinched, surprised by the sound. His friend's ear perked, and he began YARP-ing madly. The voice picked up again. "Pitch! Pitch? Where are you, boy?" The voice was getting closer. Frightened, Sherlock dove behind the nearest rock and watched.

A _human_ boy, about nineteen (not much older than Sherlock), walked over to the shoreline. "Pitch," he yelled, and Sherlock's friend ran over to his side. "There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere, bloody dog." He walked with Pitch to the shoreline, and sat down on the sand.

He was so close to Sherlock… He had never seen a human this close before. The boy… The boy, Sherlock realized, was absolutely beautiful. He had short, shaggy blonde hair that danced in the wind. His eyes were a lovely mixture of green and gray. His skin had been darkened by years in the sun. He wore cloth on his body, over his chest and_—and his legs! _Sherlock stared. He was sprawled out on the sand, his feet in the water. Such strange looking things, _feet_—with little bulbs of flesh sticking out the end. Still… he'd always wondered what it would be like to stand, to walk, like humans. To be able to feel solid ground beneath you. It was truly fascinating.

Pitch's loud YARP-ing broke Sherlock from his reverie and he hid behind the rock and out of sight. He heard the boy stand and say, "what are you barking at, you silly old thing?" After a moment, Pitch went silent. Sherlock breathed. "Well, we'd better get home, anyway," the boy said, his voice getting fainter and fainter and he walked away, "Harry must be worried about me by now, it's nearly sundown."

Sherlock waited long after the boy was gone before leaving his rock. He swam around it and stared at where the boy had sat. Oh, no, he certainly wasn't going to stop coming to the surface. He had to be this boy again, he _had to_.

Sherlock smiled and plunged under the water. _Next time_, he thought excitedly, _maybe I'll speak to him_.


	3. A Meeting

John fixed his fair hair for the third time, raking his hands through it nervously. Harry's guests would be arriving any minute now. He could almost hear her voice in his head. _John Watson_, she had said in a strained voice, _do _something _with that mess of hair or so help me I'll cut it off myself!_

John sighed. Hopeless. He shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way out of his room. His hair had a mind of its own – it just refused to lay down, no matter what he did to it.

The low rumble of talking guests made John freeze in the hallway. Crap. He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand there like a good young man, having polite conversation, speaking only when spoken to. He was a soldier, like his dad—well, he was going to be. The minute he finished school he was going straight to the army.

"Oh, yes, Senator," he heard Harry's musical voice say. Much too cheery for her, he thought curtly. "Jonathan, my little brother, is truly the pride of the family. He's the top of his class at medical school, and had an early acceptance! I believe I will go retrieve him now, if you will excuse me."

Crap, crap, crap! John stood frozen on the spot. He hated these stupid parties, but he couldn't leave, it would upset Harry—

High heels clicking against the tiled hallways. "John?" whispered Harry urgently. She was just around the corner now. Not thinking, John bolted from the hall and into his room, where he threw open the window. The grass was only a few feet down. John smiled and hopped out the window and ran as fast as he could toward the beach.

John sighed with relief when he felt the warm sand beneath his bare feet. He would worry about the repercussions later—right now, he was going to enjoy the last bits of sunshine before night came.

The sun just barely peaked over the mountains in the distance, opposite to the sea. Its lights danced beautifully over the waves, casting pink, yellow and orange reflections across the beach. The beach was completely empty of people and of creatures—the only sound was the light crash of waves in the distance and the trickling of water at the shoreline. John relaxed and closed his eyes, listening to the music of the ocean.

A quiet splash caught his attention. He opened his eyes a little, not enough to notice, but just enough to see. A boy's head bobbed in the water, just behind one of the large rocks on the shoreline. He was staring at John as though he'd never seen a human being in his life. He had large blue eyes that caught the sunlight in a way so that they sparkled. He had curly black hair that, when soaking wet, was just long enough to cover his ears. His lips were parted slightly, his eyebrows shot up above his hairline in amazement.

Another splash, just behind the boy's head. Something shiny, metallic bluish-green flipped lazily. A fish? So close to the boy? The boy shifted so that he was further out from behind the rock. His tail flipped again—wait, his _tail_?!

John's eyes snapped open. With a little yelp, the merman dove behind the rock again. John cursed. "Wait!" he said quietly, getting onto one knee at the shoreline and holding out a hand. A huge blue eye peeked from behind the rock. "Don't be afraid. It's—it's okay. My name's John," he said, unable to think of anything else to say to a god damned _merman_. The creature moved along the rock until his head and shoulders were seen. "I'm Sherlock," he said tentatively. So, he spoke English. Perfect English, as it seemed.

"You speak English?" John asked as Sherlock continued to cautiously move closer and closer. "Yes," he responded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I live in England, just like you. Except you live on land whereas I live below it."

Sherlock reached John's extended hand, and touched it warily, never taking his eyes off John. John's heart fluttered when skin touched skin. His hand felt like the hand of any other human. Anyone would have thought the boy was human, if not for the gill slits peeking out from behind his ears and the long, blue-green tail that replaced legs.

"John?"

Sherlock jerked away, fear ripe in his eyes. He was just about to dive beneath the waves when John heard himself call out the merman's name. Sherlock paused, and looked hopefully over his shoulder at John. Desperation raked at John's heart.

"I'd like to see you again," John whispered hurriedly as the footsteps drew closer to the shore. The ghost of a smile appeared on Sherlock's face. "I'll return at sundown tomorrow."

And he was gone.

John had barely let out his sigh of relief when Harry came crashing over the sand dunes. "John Watson I could ring your neck for this!" She had hiked her dress up above her knees so the trim wouldn't get sand on it. Her cheeks were red from anger and the effort of walking on sand in heels. John hid his laugh through a cough.

For a moment, John wanted to tell Harry about Sherlock. He wanted to tell his big sister about the boy with the magical fish tail and the beautiful blue eyes. But he'd stopped himself. He'd seen the fear in Sherlock's eyes when he'd heard Harry. He didn't know why, but Sherlock feared humans. But not him. No, John must be special, somehow.

John smiled. Sherlock was his wonderful, mysterious secret.


	4. Sundown

FINS Chapter Four

Sundown

Sherlock waiting impatiently beneath the waves, watching the sun dip below the horizon. His heart beat madly as he swam back and forth, back and forth, never taking his eyes off the sun's glow on the surface. The minute it disappeared, Sherlock would go looking for the human boy. _John. _Sherlock's heart fluttered and he smiled briefly before biting his lip and wringing his hands. Oh, what had he been thinking, making a meeting with a _human_? If Mycroft found out he'd been consorting with the deadliest thing to all merkind, not even family love could keep Mycroft from tearing his head off.

Sherlock was just about to turn and swim back the way he came when the glow on the surface vanished. With a jolt of excitement, he completely forgot about his brother, and swam up.

Once he got used to breathing air, Sherlock swam tentatively toward the dark shape sitting on the shoreline. As he got closer and closer, Sherlock could make out John's broad shoulders, his shaggy blonde hair, his strong jawline. As John's eyes met his, Sherlock blushed at the huge grin that formed on his lips. John looked like he hadn't smiled in a long time.

John moved closer to the shore as Sherlock approached. "Hello," he said, a little awkwardly, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. Sherlock must be as strange a sight to see for John as he was for Sherlock.

Sherlock returned the greeting, and they remained there for a little, staring at each other. Finally, John coughed and scratched his head. "Um," he said, "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions, Sherlock, if that's alright."

Sherlock smiled and nodded. He had expected as much.

"Well, first off," John continued and looked out onto the darkened sea, "I was wondering, really—well, considering everyone thinks merfolk aren't real—why you decided to show yourself. To me, of all people," he laughed quietly, but Sherlock could see sadness in his eyes. It puzzled him.

"Why not you?" He asked curiously. Sherlock could hardly think of any reason—to him, John was the most amazing thing in the world.

John looked back towards the shore and shrugged. Sherlock sensed that he didn't want to answer the question, so he continued, "To be honest, it was a bit of an accident. I was just sort of exploring a bit when I came across the furry black fellow—," John snorted a laugh, "—and then you spotted me."

"You mean Pitch, my dog," John explained, sitting cross-legged on the sand. When Sherlock cocked an eyebrow quizzically, John grinned and further explained, "he's my pet—an animal that lives with me. Well, he didn't until recently. Found him eating out of our garbage half-starved about a year ago, and he's never left."

Sherlock stared, starry-eyed, as John looked off in the distance and chuckled at some old memory. Sherlock liked the sound of his voice. It was soft with only the slightest touch of gruffness, light-hearted and relaxed. Practically the exact opposite of his brother's deadly, elegant voice. Sherlock crossed his arms over a protruding rock and rested his chin on the backs of his hands, content to just listen to John speak forever. It wasn't until John stopped speaking that Sherlock broke from his little daze. "Pardon?" he said embarrassedly. John grinned mischievously and pretended not to notice the blush that spread across Sherlock's face. "I asked, 'Have you got a family?'"

Sherlock stiffened. A lump formed in his throat. John, who had noticed the colour drain completely from Sherlock's face, back-peddled. "Whoa, you don't have to answer, I was just curious if there were any others—,"

"No, it's okay," Sherlock said, although his voice cracked. He looked away from John's handsome face. "It's just my parents—they were killed two years ago by fishermen. That's why humans and merfolk haven't crossed paths for hundreds of years—when humans don't understand something, they kill it," he spat bitterly. He glanced at John again, shook himself and reached out a hand. "No—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just my people's beliefs. Not mine." John looked cautiously at Sherlock's hand before grasping it lightly in his.

"What are your beliefs, then?" John leaned toward Sherlock, now so close that he could feel John's breath on his face. It smelled of fruit.

"I believe that humans are misunderstood by my people," Sherlock said, barely over a whisper, "I believe that, if we were to reveal our existence to them, we would be protected, not slaughtered. Humans are a curious species. They would want to study us, that's all. And once they saw our intelligence, then perhaps we could coexist as equals."

The ghost of a smile appeared on John's lips. "You have too much faith in my species," he whispered. Sherlock swallowed. "I don't know if I do," he whispered back.

John moved back and looked inquiringly at Sherlock. Sherlock raised an eyebrow playfully, although his heart squeezed a little when John moved away. "How do you mean?" John asked.

"Well," Sherlock said with a smile, "I revealed myself to you. And as of yet I haven't been harpooned. So I'd say that's a good reason to have a little faith in humanity." John laughed. The sound of it made Sherlock's heart soar.

"You know, I like you, Sherlock," John said. Sherlock nearly sprang out of the water with joy. "I like you, too, John."

To be continued…


End file.
